Sagittarius
by ImaginaryStories
Summary: Life is mysteriously ridiculous. Or perhaps ridiculously mysterious?
1. Chapter 1

Life is mysteriously ridiculous. Or perhaps ridiculously mysterious?  
Sometimes the things that should scare us, makes us laugh instead.

Not that she had laughed. On the contrary, she had cried a little. Everything had happened so fast. One moment she was searching the medical cabinets for drugged flu shots. The next moment she was tied to a chair while being groped by the Count.

She almost died.

She thought about that word. _Almost_. Almost. She had come close to death, but not entirely. Almost.

She knew she should be shocked, and she had been for a few minutes, but that's it. She wondered whether her reaction to things was abnormal. On the other hand, the life she led during her nighttime wasn't normal either.

Normality has long been gone from her life. Not since she found about him, but ever since the first time she met him. She just didn't know it back then.

He had killed again.

Because of her? Or for her?

She sighed. She was angry with herself, with Oliver, with everyone and everything.  
She was angry with herself for going there alone without backup.  
She was angry with Oliver for being so _fine_ with everything.  
And she was angry with the entire world for being as it is.

She ran the incidents over and over in her head, desperately trying to see if she could have done something, _anything_, different so he could spare his pain and guilt. She didn't want to add more to his misery. Even though he had held her hand and told her sincerely that there was no choice to make, she couldn't help feeling mortified.  
She also understood him. She had never been in the position he had been, and she prayed to God she never would, but had the situation been reversed, she would without hesitation take a life to save his.

It was scary how thoughts about death came to her so easy. And so often.  
She was aware of the danger she had put herself into when she had become a part of the group. But once she experienced it, she realized she had no idea just how much danger she was exposed to.

She sighed. The bath hadn't helped much. She spent more than an hour in her bathtub, partly to scrub away all her negative feelings, and partly to wear herself out so she could sleep. She needed that.

But here she was, still wide-awake. She twisted and turned, her now damp hair making her bed-lining wet. She thought of calling him up, asking him how he is, because she didn't know what else to say. But she refrained from the idea, thinking he probably wants to be left alone.

She sighed and twisted once again for what felt like the hundredth time.


	2. Chapter 2

Kill or be killed.

He had thought about those four words many times, and he had come to the conclusion that truer words had never been said.

Kill or be killed; figuratively or literally.

But everything changed.

During his lifetime, he had lost many people, like his paternal grandfather. Condolences were offered to him. He, too, offered his condolences, he told his father that he was sorry for his loss. Of course, he had only said it out of courtesy. But when Tommy died, he finally understood what _sorry_ tasted like, what _loss_ felt like. He lived it. He lived with it every single day. Tommy was his brother, his best friend. And all that remained of him now was a sad emptiness. Oliver found it odd how someone who doesn't exist can fill up so much space.

So he did the only thing he knew to be right. He promised his fallen brother that he wouldn't be the murderer Tommy believed him to be. He fought desperately against himself, his demons, his belief, and his true nature. He let himself _hope_ it was all possible, he _pretended_ that those four words weren't true, and for some time it had worked out.

But everything changed.

Oliver remembers telling Digg with confidence that they would protect Felicity, when she had agreed to help them find Walter. And he meant it. Because he needed her expertise. He was well aware of the danger she would be exposed to, but he was also that selfish.

But everything changed.

He thinks about what happened earlier that night. Images flash in his memory, of Felicity being tied up and scared, of the Count holding the syringe to Felicity's neck, of the Count with three arrows in him.

He had to kill him. The Count knew about his alter ego, he had hurt John, he was going to hurt Felicity too and he wasn't going to stop there. It was very simple; _kill _or _be killed_. Because no matter what, Oliver was one step behind; even though the Count's fire had missed him, he would still kill Oliver by hurting Felicity.

He had to put arrows in him.


	3. Chapter 3

Covetousness. Envy. Jealousy. They had never existed in Oliver's vocabulary.

It was not a feeling he was familiar with, he had never felt jealous of anyone or anything. Because it was always the opposite. People were jealous of him. Even Tommy. Not that he would have ever said it out loud, but Oliver could tell. Tommy envied Oliver's family; the presence of his father, his mother, the home they had. And Oliver didn't blame him.

And he would never envy anyone either.

At times, he would get upset when he saw Laurel with Tommy, but his anger was toward himself. Because he was the one who ran away with her sister, because he ruined things between them. And that upset him. But never jealous.

He thinks about what Diggle said earlier that night; that he didn't have a problem with Felicity's performance until she met Barry Allen. Diggle's wrong, he tells himself.

He recalls the day Felicity called him to say that she was leaving for Central City, and that she didn't know how long she was going to stay there. He hadn't bothered asking why she was leaving. He knew it was because of Barry. It was later that day in the foundry that he got to know through Digg that Barry was in the hospital.

But what he felt wasn't jealousy. Diggle was wrong. What Oliver felt was anger, because she was gone, she had left hi - them, all by themselves. He felt helpless without her. How did she imagine he was supposed to carry on without her? Barry was in coma, and she wouldn't be much of a help there anyway, she could have been here. With hi - them. With them. Diggle and him. He wasn't jealous.

Later, when he and Diggle were alone at the foundry, he told the man that he was wrong; that he wasn't jealous of Barry Allen.

Diggle looked at him knowingly, saying that he never said he was.


End file.
